


Five Mornings

by spongiform-encephalopathies (turketspy)



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 17:13:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6018043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turketspy/pseuds/spongiform-encephalopathies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Spies AU in which Simon and Baz make a deal, Penny thinks it's a bad idea, and Fiona needs to unsee many, many things. My gift to theinsidiouspitch for the Snowbaz Valentines gift exchange!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Mornings

**One**  
**Baz**

I wake up with a headache in an unfamiliar bed. I haven’t had this experience since college. The last thing I remember clearly was having a few drinks with Fiona. What woke me up? Coffee. I smell it. And whoever’s bed it is I’m in is offering me some. Who is it? I should roll over to find out who it is. But moving hurts. And rolling over would be worse. Maybe if I closed my eyes it would hurt less. 

I close my eyes and roll over. It didn’t hurt any less. Actually, it made a distinct nauseated feeling appear. I open my eyes. The nausea calms down almost immediately. Until I see who it is offering me coffee. 

“Snow.” 

“Hallo, Baz,” he says, amused. He has a stupid grin on his face like I’ve just given him the best story in the world to tell Penelope. And I probably have. But any snide remark that I could think of is swallowed up by what he’s wearing. Specifically what he’s not wearing. Which is clothes. 

“Did we…?” I start to ask, but the nausea comes back and I have to swallow it down. 

“Shag?” he asks, that stupid grin of his widening. “Nah. You were absolutely gone. You wouldn’t have remembered it.”  
What?

“And you would rather I remember if we had sex?” I ask, stupidly but indignantly.

“Well, yeah.” 

“I didn’t realize you were gay, Snow.”

He laughs, handing me a coffee mug. I take it and sit up. He knows how I take my coffee. That I even take coffee. Now that I’m upright I can see that he made tea for himself. Bugger. 

“I’m not,” he says, sitting on the bed beside me. “But I have shagged my fair share of blokes. You?” 

I have to think about what he’s asking for a moment. 

“Yes. Gay. One hundred percent.” 

“D’you wanna, then?” 

“Have sex?” I sputter. “Now?” 

“No, not now. We have to get to work. Penny and Fiona have been calling every five minutes. Mitali’s gonna have our heads,” he explains. “But if you want to sometime. No strings attached.” 

My head is splitting and I must be having auditory hallucinations, because I swear I just heard Simon bloody Snow ask if I want to have casual sex with him every now and then. And bloody fucking hell, yes I do. 

“No strings attached?”

**Simon**

“You shook on it?” Penny exclaims, outraged. “That’s all? You asked _Baz_ to have casual sex with you and you just _shook on it_? What were you thinking?” 

“I was thinking that he looked damn good sprawled out on my bed and I’d like to see him that way again. Less clothed.” 

She throws her hands over her ears and closes her eyes tightly. “ _Simon_!” 

I laugh for a solid minute before she opens her eyes again. She looks at me sternly. “As your handler, I strongly advise against this.”

“And as my best friend and wingman?” 

She sighs, running a hand through her hair. “As your best friend and wingman...When are you gonna call him?” 

"We have rules, see. The person who called can't call again for twenty-four hours. But the person receiving the call can. No dinner. But we can do coffee. And no talking about feelings. Apparently that's something that needed clarifying." 

"That it?" Penny asks. 

I feel like I might be forgetting something, but I've no idea what it could be, so I just nod. "Yeah, I think so."

"You didn't call him first," she points out. 

And she's right. He just showed up at my door. Completely shitfaced. Which is probably his aunt's fault. I don't like calling names, so I won't. But I find Fiona distasteful. To say the least. She sabotaged one of my missions one time. In China. I was rescuing a kidnapped foreign dignitary. I'd cleared the field, was on my way to pick up my target, then in swooped Baz to save the day. He got all the credit for the rescue, even though I did all the work. 

It was Fiona that sent him. I know this because she and Penny work in the same office and she told me so when she got out of earshot. Anyway, I find Fiona distasteful. Because she's rude, she sabotages missions, and she contributes to her nephew's drinking problem. 

I don't actually think Baz has a drinking problem. But if he's drunk enough to end up at my door, then there's a problem. 

"I'll call him when I get ready to, Penny," I sigh. Thinking about it gives me a headache. 

**Two**  
**Simon**

We're on a mission in Prague when I finally call him. Though it isn't really calling him so much as dragging him to my hotel room after watching him slaughter a room full of armed criminals with an antique halberd he'd pulled off the wall. It's insanely sexy. 

But not nearly as sexy as getting him undressed. His caramel skin is beautiful in the moonlight and I find myself wanting to lick it. I don't. Because I don't want to spook him. But I want to. 

He's softer than I imagined as I run my hands over his stomach. I imagined rock hard abs and chiseled pecs. And he has them. But he's softer around the edges than his brow line and cheekbones suggest. He shivers all over when I touch him, flushing and warming under my hands. 

And then he moans. 

\--

I wake up to the smell of coffee. My sheet is gone, and the duvet just barely covers my arse. I take a deep breath, really getting in the aroma, before opening my eyes. Baz is standing in the corner of the room, sipping at a mug, watching an electric kettle like a hawk. He has the sheet wrapped around his chest, trailing around him like a bloody wedding gown. It nearly gets me hard again. 

"Hallo, Baz," I sigh. I have to admit, the drape of the sheet is giving me a beautiful view of his back. 

"Snow," he replies. It isn't a grunt, but it isn't really a sigh or anything either. It's just a statement, an acknowledgment that I spoke to him. 

"Are you making me tea, Baz?" He is. 

"I am," he says, looking at me through his lashes. One dark eyebrow is raised as if to ask, "What of it?" 

That look, that eyebrow is enough to finish what the sheet started. 

"Have you got anywhere to be for the next few hours?" I ask. 

He gives me a wry grin. 

**Penelope**

"Oh. Oh no," I say, rushing to turn my monitor off. Fiona's eyes are glued to hers. 

"Should we tell them that they left their contact lens cameras in?" she asks. "And that they're broadcasting? To us?"

"Probably?" I reply, turning my monitor back on. Baz is still displayed on my screen in all his nude glory. Simon is sprawled across a bed on Fiona's.

"I'm gonna need bleach to get this out," she sighs, and I have to assume she means getting the image of our two agents doing what they're about to do out of her mind. Because I completely agree. Bleach is the only thing that will do it. 

"Me too," I agree. "But Baz is well fit, isn't he?"

"I'm not looking," is Fiona's response. "But Simon is." 

"I'm not looking in that direction." 

We turn our monitors off simultaneously as hands start getting involved. 

"D'you wanna go for a drink?" Fiona asks, putting on her coat. 

"It's eight in the morning," I say. Because really, finding a drink at this hour is going to be bloody difficult, even though I could use one. 

"I know a guy," she responds, and I'm putting my coat on too. 

**Three**  
**Baz**

Snow is handsy. Touchy. He likes to run his hands over _everything_. Which is good if you like that sort of thing. And I do. Immensely. Just not while we're in the field. 

Apparently, since our little arrangement started, we've been working together better than ever before. Which means that Mitali and The School are happy to send us on more missions together. Which means that I spend way more time together with Snow than I thought I would ever want to. Which means I am also spending more time with his bloody hands. His bloody hands that are always warm, and firm, and bloody perfect at getting what they want. Which is usually in my trousers. 

So when we're staked out in Paris waiting for the head of a sex trafficking ring to show his ugly face and Snow thinks it's a fine time to start getting handsy, I really would love to tell him off. Because we're in the field. And we're supposed to be working. And there is a dangerous man in that hotel that we're parked across the street from and he could be coming out any minute. 

When I say all this, quietly and with my microphone muted, he chuckles. _Chuckles_.

"Baz," he whispers in my ear, leaning over the center console. His hand is warm over my jeans, stroking. "He's taken a prostitute up into that room. They won't be out for hours. We can have some fun before he comes down, right?"

"That's what you call fun? Fucking while we're meant to be working?" I hiss, but it comes out more strangled than I mean for it to. God that feels good. 

"We can keep watch while do it," he replies. "It'll be fun. Exciting. What d'ya say?" 

"I'd rather not have to run after a sex trafficker with a hard-on."

"Then I'll do you first," Snow says. And really, it sounds like a good argument. 

He unzips my jeans just as they're beginning to feel tight. Does it make things better or worse? I don't know. What I do know is that I nearly jump out of my skin when he lowers his mouth to my cock and starts sucking. 

I think I jumped mostly because I wasn't expecting it. There was no lead-up. And leave it to fucking Snow to jump into sucking you off with no warning. What does that even mean? I dunno. I don't think I know much of anything anymore, other that the wet heat of his mouth, the way everything tightens when he hollows his cheeks.

\--

**Simon**

We did get the guy. Dropped him off in handcuffs to the proper authorities. Then we found out that Mitali sent the jet for us. And Baz and I joined the ranks of the mile high club. It was spectacular. But not nearly as spectacular as waking up to find Baz curled up in my arms. The morning sun streaming in through the windows makes him look like his skin is made of gold. 

Is he snoring? I can't tell over the noises of the plane. Not that there are many. Maybe that means he isn't snoring. Doesn't matter. None of it matters. What matters is this feeling in my chest that means casual isn't so casual anymore and I'm fucked. 

"Mornin'," he slurs, turning his head. His eyes are still half-closed and his hair is sticking to his forehead. It's cute. 

"Good morning, Baz."

"Where are we?" he yawns, a bit more coherently. 

"Somewhere over Wales. I told the pilots to circle until you woke up or we absolutely couldn't stay in the air anymore." I wink at him. "I'm glad you woke up first." 

"You are incorrigible, Snow," he groans, trying to sit up. 

"Big words for so early in the morning." I can't help but laugh. He smacks my arm and I have to laugh some more. 

"Have them put us down. I need a shower and a proper bed." 

"No breakfast?" 

"Rules, Snow," Baz sighs, pushing his hair back off his forehead. 

"We agreed on no dinner." 

"It's a meal." 

"Please?" 

He glares at me, propping himself up on one elbow. "We agreed to no meals, Snow."

I sigh, "Yeah, alright. We'll set it down." 

**Four**  
**Baz**

The first time I "call" Snow, it is through a text. 

"My place in ten?"

His response is almost immediate. 

"I can be there in five."

Well shit. I wasn't expecting that. Not that there's anything wrong with him showing up at my place in five minutes. It's clean. My laundry's been put away. There are no dishes in the sink. I'm just not prepared. Emotionally, maybe? I don't know. I've worked very hard to keep emotion out of this. But Snow is so good at everything. He's gorgeous, has an amazing smile, and he genuinely enjoys my company (even after we almost got each other killed in Budapest). 

I just failed. Miserably. At keeping emotion out of it. I haven't had sex with anyone but Snow since we started this thing, Whatever it is. I haven't wanted to. He's just so perfect. It's ridiculous. And I want to hate him for it. For making me feel _feelings_ for him. But I can't. 

A knock on the door jolts me out of my thoughts. Damn. I spent five minutes thinking about how not ready I am. And now he's here. Standing there in all his golden glory. Grinning. 

"Hallo, Baz," he says, and I want to kiss him. Kiss that stupid grin right off his stupid face. We haven't done that before. It wasn't part of the original agreement, but I think it meant something akin to strings. So we haven't. But today I do. Today I feel like strings are exactly what I need. 

So I kiss him. And kiss him. And kiss him. And I hardly notice when he lifts me into his arms (he could break me in half, I'm sure of it), or when he locks the door. But I do notice when we collide with my bed. When he takes off my shirt. And then his. And when he presses hot, wet kisses along my neck, down my chest. I notice the fire that springs up under my skin when he traces patterns into my flesh with his tongue. 

Oh, God. What have I gotten myself into? 

**Simon**

Kissing Baz feels like opening a floodgate. All of the feelings I've been holding back pour out, into wet, sloppy kisses down his abdomen. The noises he makes, the soft groans and desperate moans, only fuel it. I want to hear all the noises he has to make. 

\--

It's one in the morning when we roll apart, feeling spent but nowhere near empty. 

"Snow," Baz sighs. "You are bloody brilliant."

"That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me, Baz," I joke back. My chest swells. 

"Is it really? I had no idea."

"Tell you what," I offer, rolling onto my side to look at him directly. There's no moon, the only light is coming from a massive candle Baz lit before I got here. Cedar and bergamot, I think. Just like his bloody soap. He's obsessed. But it casts a warm glow, making him look positively radiant. "You can make it up to me by letting me take you to breakfast."

"You mean, like an actual date?" he asks, eyes widening. 

"Like an actual date."

"Now?"

"Bloody hell, no! It's one in the morning. That is, if your clock is to be trusted. We need sleep first." I want to curl up next to him and sleep forever, but I don't say that. 

He rolls his eyes. "I don't need sleep. I need a shower."

"I'll pick you up at seven," I say, rolling off the bed. I want to kiss him again. I really want to kiss him again. It's all I can make myself think about as I pull on my jeans and my shirt. 

"You aren't staying?"

He looks almost hurt. 

"If we're going on a date, then I want to do it right. Pick you up. Be absolutely floored at how good you look for seven in the morning. Take you to a surprise place. The whole thing," I reply. I probably sound like a nut. I might be one. 

"It hardly counts," he scoffs. "Since we started my shagging."

" _Please_ , Baz? Let me do this?"

Whatever puppy look I give him must work, because he rolls his eyes and nods. 

"Fine," he says. "But you owe me one thing before you leave."

"What?"

"A good night kiss."

Fucking _yes_.

**Five**  
**Simon**

I didn't actually sleep at all. I was too nervous. And I must have horrible dark circles under my eyes because they feel swollen. But I haven't looked. The first thing I did when I left Baz's flat was to call Penny. 

"Simon, it is one in the morning," she growled at me.

"I know, Penny, but I need your help," I pleaded. "I'm taking Baz out for breakfast."

"You mean like a date?" 

"Why does everyone keep asking that? _Yes_ , like an actual date. A breakfast date."

Penny met me at my flat. We planned everything, from what I was wearing, where I was going to take him, right down to what I would order. 

"You're a lifesaver, Penny," I say, issuing her cheek before bolting from the flat. 

"You'd better remember that, Simon Snow!" she called after me.

When I get to Baz's, it only takes a split second for him to open the door. And he is absolutely fucking beautiful. He's got on a sky blue jumper and jeans, with a dark gray coat over. His black hair, which he wears slicked back for missions, is in a loose bun, strands falling around his face. He looks as fresh as a spring morning. Which is bloody typical. 

"Hallo, Baz," I breathe. 

"Hello, Simon."


End file.
